GH's Fiction Contest Winner: Time Lapse

Maura has gathered the whole family for the occasion  but where is her mom?

In the sandwich shop, Kath tells Maura that she has the perfect setting in mind: that field in East Concord near the country club, with Mount Kearsarge in the background. The portrait was Maura's idea, something memorable for their mother's 67th birthday. But as usual, Kath wants to take the whole thing over.

"I was thinking we could use Carter's backyard," Maura says. Carter, Maura's boyfriend, or significant other, or whatever he is, rents the bottom half of an old house near downtown, and his backyard has gravel paths, a fountain, and massive old rhododendrons at the far edges. It's an elegant garden left over from long ago.

"Carter's not part of our family," Kath says.

"Close enough," Maura says.

"It'll just confuse Mom. She'll look at the picture and wonder, Who's that guy standing next to Maura, and where's Webb?"

"Mom knows perfectly well who Carter is." Maura draws a slow breath. She doesn't want to start a fight in the Sandwich Depot, but Kath always exaggerates, twisting reality to make her worries sound more reasonable. "And Mom won't be looking for Webb. It's been five years, Kath. Webb has a whole other family now. Why don't we include Webb and Marissa and the baby in our picture, and see if that confuses Mom?"

"Three times," Kath says, ignoring Maura's sarcasm. "That's three times that I know of." According to Kath, their mom has been calling out friendly hellos to strangers. "Like when she came with us to the science museum," Kath says. "She's greeting people inappropriately, and she doesn't even realize it. You'd see it, too, if you spent more time with her."

"I see her as much as you do," Maura says. Of course she's noticed Mom's blips of forgetfulness, but they seem like normal blips. Heck, Maura forgets things, too; two nights ago she left the hose running so that by morning her side yard had turned into a muddy pond. But she hasn't seen any inappropriate greetings. That's just Kath, exaggerating as usual.

Kath picks up her phone, tapping her calendar open. "Mom has an appointment with the endocrinologist coming up. Would you "

"I'll take her," Maura says, before Kath can start in on how worried she is about Mom's prediabetes and how, with that on top of her memory loss, it probably isn't safe for her to leave the house alone.

"That would be great," Kath says. "I'll call the photographer."

A few nights later, Mom enters Maura's little kitchen exclaiming over her granddaughter's stellar driving skills. Ellie, Maura's older daughter, got her license two weeks ago, and tonight she drove to the South End and fetched her grandmother. Ellie beams at her grandmother, showing her dimples and flipping her long hair, then disappears upstairs.

Maura's two daughters are so pretty, with their green eyes, glossy hair, and beautiful skin, and she wonders how this can be, since she was a frizzy-haired, slouchy mess through her teens.

Now Mom sets a quart jug of maple syrup on the counter and frowns at it.

"What's with the syrup, and why now?" Maura asks, mixing salad for their cookout.

"Oh, someone brought it to me, someone whose family has a sugar house, oh, you know...." She pauses, then lets out a sigh.

"Well, thanks," Maura says. "You must mean Lydia Thompson, right?" Mom's friend Lydia grew up in the North Country, and Lydia's brothers still run a commercial sugaring operation up there.

"Right, of course." Mom smacks her palm against her forehead. Her coral lipstick bleeds into the fine tracery of lines above her lip.

If Kath were here, she'd grab her lipliner pencil, then walk Mom to the bathroom to show her how to use it, but Maura knows when to leave well enough alone, and she hands Mom a glass of wine. "I got some wild salmon on special, and Carter's out back getting the grill ready." She keeps her eyes on Mom, to see if Carter's name confuses her. But Mom only smiles, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"Well, how fancy," she says. "I'll go tell him hello." She trundles out the back door to the deck.

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